


One Hundred Little Moments

by Avenging_Demigod



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Rise of the Guardians (2012), Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 100 Days, Alternate Universe - High School, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Reader-Insert, multi-fandom - Freeform, prompts, writing challenge, x-reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avenging_Demigod/pseuds/Avenging_Demigod
Summary: THIS WORK HAS BEEN DISCONTINUES DUE TO SCHOOL EATING UP EVERY SPARE MOMENT THAT I HAVE





	1. Good Morning (Sherlock)

John Watson woke to the sound of explosions and the worst part was that he didn’t even hurry to see if Sherlock was hurt.

“Bastard,” he groaned as he threw the covers back, “That’s the fourth time this week. Mrs. Hudson will have a fit.”

Since moving into Baker Street, he quickly became used to the noises that heralded the rising of the morning sun. Half the time he woke to the sounds of explosions, gunfire, Sherlock yelling at the telly, or he and Mycroft having a row. Other times it was erratic violin music or the slamming of doors as his flat mate had a sudden epiphany pertaining to a case. Sometimes he even woke to silence, but those days were few and far between.

When John got into the kitchen, he found Sherlock examining a brand new smoking burn mark on the counter, his safety goggles resting on his forehead. When he saw John standing in the doorway, he swept past him, leaving a broken beaker and other remnants of his experiment behind.

“Come along, John,” he called over his shoulder as he grabbed up his coat and threw his safety goggles onto the coffee table. “No time for breakfast. I finally figured out how that juggler was murdered.”

He swept out the door, his coat swishing behind him, leaving John alone in a smoky kitchen in his pajamas.

“And a good morning to you, too,” he sighed.


	2. Hope (Supernatural/Avengers)

Dean Winchester whirled, plunging his knife into a demon that had tried to attack him from behind. He didn’t get to watch its eyes combust from within as he cut down another foe, and another, and two more after that. 

A red, white, and blue shield spun past him, cutting down five foes with its consecrated iron edge that Bobby had designed for them. The old lore master was across the room fighting back-to-back with a red hair woman that was wielding the colt with the same proficiency and skill as her more modern firearms. 

For the thousandth time in the last five minutes, Dean marveled at the fact that they were fighting next to the Avengers. _Earth’s mightiest heroes_ were fighting alongside _them_ , the Winchesters, Earth’s most wanted criminals. 

Well, maybe “alongside” is misleading. The Avengers definitely didn’t believe that they were on the same team. They had captured Sam, Dean, and Bobby, intending to incarcerate them for life in a high-security S.H.I.E.L.D. facility when a hoard of demons had suddenly attacked, attempting to kill all of Earth’s most diligent protectors once and for all. 

Somehow, Sam had convinced the heroes to release them and let them fight, but Dean doubted that it would be enough. It seemed as if the entirety of Hell had shown up to wipe them out. 

Dean took a step back, right into a puddle of blood. He slipped, falling backwards and cracking his head painfully on the linoleum floor. As soon as he went down, a demon was on him, pressing a knife closed and closer towards his throat. Dean writhed underneath it, trying desperately to buck it off. 

The knife was only centimeters away when a speeding silver object smashed into the demon from the side and knocked it off of Dean, pinning it to a nearby wall with the sickening crunch of broken bones. 

Dean had no time to be relieved as he scrambled to his feet and was immediately attacked by yet another demon. This one was unarmed, but it was strong enough to force Dean to give ground as he tried to defend against its lightning quick assault. His back hit a wall and suddenly the demon had knocked the knife from his hand and wrapped its hands around his throat, crushing the breath from his body. His fingers grabbed for the flask of holy water at his belt, but the demon simply removed one, grabbed the container, and threw it away. 

“So this is the righteous man?” it sneered, its black eyes full of malice. “What a joke. You’re the least righteous soul I’ve ever seen.” 

Dean’s searching hand finally closed over a leather handle and without a second thought, he swung the weapon, knocking the demon clear across the room. He stared down at his hand to find Thor’s hammer in his grip. 

“It’s lighter than you had imagined, is it not?” 

Dean’s head whipped up to find Thor standing next to him, a wide grin on his face. 

“Only the most righteous heroes can wield that weapon. It seems we have underestimated you.” Thor gave him a searching look, but before Dean could respond, they were attacked once again. 

Thor had grabbed Dean’s knife and even though it was little more than a toothpick in his huge grip, he managed to kill three demons in the space of a few seconds. 

“You hold the greatest weapon in the nine realms!” Thor bellowed over the noise of the battle, “Use it!” 

Dean adjusted his grip and dived into the fray, laying about him with the hammer and killing demon after demon. 

And just like that, the battle was over. 

Dean stared down at the hammer, which would only accept the best of that the nine realms had to offer, and felt something kindle in his chest that he hadn’t in a very long time: hope.  



	3. Despair (Rise of the Guardians)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a heavy chapter so early on! There should be less than three other chapters like this, depending on how I decide the write the other prompts.

Jack sat in the entrance to a dark cave, his staff broken in two on the cold stone floor. His shoulders were hunched, his head hanging over his lap as frozen tears dripped onto his clenched fists. Outside, the wind howled and screamed as it whipped snow and ice across the barren landscape, but Jack could barely hear it. The snow was piled a mile high and just as deep against the entrance to the cave, entombing Jack in the rocky cavern.

It had been ten years since Pitch began the war that had started Jack on his path to becoming a guardian. Pitch had been far more powerful than any of them had imagined and it only got worse after Sandy died. But even as they lost more and more battles and the lights on the globe grew fewer and fewer, they always managed to have hope. 

Then they lost Bunny.

The North Pole had already been destroyed by Pitch’s armies and they were hiding out in the Warren when they found themselves fighting for their lives against wave after wave of fearlings and nightmares. They valiantly held their own for a while, believing that they could overcome, when a sudden wave of despair swept over them. It was as if everything beautiful was suddenly plucked from the world and crushed beyond recognition. Jack almost dropped his staff when he realized what had caused it. 

Across the cavern, Bunny’s crumpled form slowly disappeared, swallowed by black sand. His wide, sightless eyes were the last thing to disappear before the black cocoon dissolved, leaving nothing left of the guardian of hope. 

Jack screamed, letting loose a tidal wave of ice that wiped out every fearling and nightmare in sight, but it was too late.

After that, there was no more hope. The Guardians were constantly on the run, moving from one place to the next, trying desperately to keep ahead of their enemies. Jack no longer laughed, North didn’t invent a single toy, and Tooth barely spoke to either of them. 

The next battle took the guardians of wonder and memories and suddenly, Jack was alone. 

Finally, enraged and with nothing to lose, Jack went after Pitch. He found the Nightmare King easily, but only because he wished to be found.

“How nice of you to offer yourself up,” he said when they finally came face-to-face, his yellow eyes brimming with malice.

Jack tried to attack him, his staff discharging with a flash of light, but a nightmare jumped in the way, taking the hit and disintegrating into sand. A whole herd of them surrounded Jack and he had to scramble to keep them from trampling him. Pitch laughed, melting into the shadows as Jack fought for his life.

“Your precious guardians are gone,” Pitch’s voice echoed from all around him, “Every last light has been extinguished, every hope and dream squashed. What’s left but for you to give into your despair?”

“Killing you,” Jack responded through gritted teeth as his staff smashed through the head of a nightmare.

He spun, his staff coming up to blast the creatures behind him when it was suddenly yanked from his grip. Pitch had suddenly emerged from Jack’s own shadow, catching him by surprise.

“This is your last chance,” Pitch warned as he backed away to a safe distance. “Join me,” he pauses, gesturing around at the remaining nightmares, “or die.”

“How about you give me back my staff and I fight you instead,” Jack suggested, his eyes full of an uncharacteristic rage.

“Wrong answer.”

Pitch brought Jack’s staff down on his knee, breaking it in two. Jack screamed in pain and with nothing to channel his powers and hold them back, he exploded, ice and snow shooting out in all directions. Pitch and the nightmares were killed instantly. Within a few days, the rest of the world met the same fate as a new ice age settled over the planet, but Jack couldn’t have cared less as he stayed in that same cave for years to come, giving into despair.


	4. Why? (Avengers)

Whatever Tony had been expecting when he entered his lab, it certainly hadn’t been a pie to the face. He sputtered, reeling backwards as he swiped at the whipped cream on his face. He couldn’t see anything past all of it, but he could clearly hear Clint dying of laughter somewhere in front of him.

“Why?” Tony whined as he cleared his vision, “I thought we could trust each other Barton.”

Clint continued to roll on the floor, clutching his stomach as he laughed.

“Holy shit, your face was priceless,” he giggled as he managed to get himself under control.

“Penguin,” Tony muttered back as he threw the pie tin into a trash can and wiped another handful of whipped cream off his face.

Clint immediately sobered, sitting up to glare resentfully at Tony.

“It’s _Hawkeye_. I’m a _hawk_ , not a penguin. And you brought this on yourself,” he said, shrugging, “If you hadn’t replaced all my arrowheads with heart shaped versions, then I wouldn’t have had to retaliate.”

Tony screwed his mouth to one side, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked up at the ceiling, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hmmm… Nope! Can’t say that I remember doing that, but whatever floats your boat, Kiwi.”

He turned to walk back out the door and search for a bathroom. Just as he was stepping back through the doorway, another pie came out of nowhere, sending him reeling for a second time. Clint’s laughter started up again, even louder than last time. When Tony finally managed to clear his vision again, he was greeted by the sight of Natasha grinning back at him. Tony gestured helplessly.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Don’t mess with the Blue-Footed Booby,” she replied, completely ignoring Clint’s cry of indignation as she turned and walked back down the hallway.


	5. Park Bench (Destiel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing my prompt yesterday! I was really busy all day. I'll try not to let it happen again. :)

Dean is lounging on a park bench, simply enjoying the sunlight, when a rustle of wings beside him makes him open his eyes, a grin lighting up his features.

“Hey, Cas,” he greets his husband, “How’d the hunt with Charlie go?”

Cas’s cerulean eyes crinkle at the edges and his mouth curls up in a contented smile as Dean wraps his arm around his should and presses a kiss to his temple.

“It went as well as could be expected. Charlie managed to figure out the shapeshifter’s next target and we disposed of it before it could kill anyone else,” Cas replies as he leans against his husband’s side, relaxing for the first time in days, “Charlie told me to say hello. She also wanted me to tell you that she will be at a Doctor Who convention for the next few days and to not call her unless it is, to use her words, ‘an earth-shattering shit fest that you couldn’t beat without her next-level hacking skills’.”

Dean chuckles as he presses another kiss to Cas’s forehead. “That’s basically how it went for me and Sammy. We managed to gank the werewolf before it got anyone else. Sam wanted to do a bit of shopping before we headed back to the bunker,” he explains, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the convenience store just outside the park, “Just thought I’d sit and enjoy the sun for a bit until he’s done.”

Cas hums, turning to press his lips to Dean’s. They sit like that for a few seconds, Cas’s hand on Dean’s chest while Dean’s fingers gently run through Cas’s hair, each simply familiarizing himself with the other. When they finally pull apart, Cas lays his head on Dean’s shoulder and lets out a contented sigh.

“I missed you,” he confesses as Dean’s fingers continue to card through his hair.

“Me, too, Angel,” Dean replies, his eyes half-lidded as he smiles lazily down at the other man.

They sit, enjoying each other‘s company, until the impala’s horn shatters the peace. Dean looks over his shoulder to see Sam waving at him from the parking lot. He waves back, making a shooing gesture before pointing to Cas next to him. Sam gives him a thumbs up before climbing into the impala and driving away.

Dean drops his arm back around Cas’s shoulders and leans his head back, closing his eyes as he enjoys the warmth of the sun on his face and the weight of his husband’s head on his shoulder.

 


	6. Swing (Sabriel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: Ok, so I dropped the ball again. :/ It looks like I tried to take on just bit to much because now I'm working on this so much that I can't work on my other projects and even then, I sometimes miss days due to school and band and stuff. Instead of posting every day, I'll post two to three times a week, which is still a lot. To make up for the decrease in activity, I'll be posting an extra long installment after this one. :) I hope you enjoy!)

Sam gives a quick thumbs up to Dean, grinning at the sight of him and Cas lounging on a park bench. It’s such a domestic thing to do.

‘ _He deserves some normality_ ,’ Sam thinks as he starts up the impala and pulls out of the parking lot.

He’d just hit the highway when a rustle of wings from the passenger seat makes his face split into a happy grin.

“Hey,” he greets his boyfriend, glancing across to see Gabe give him a two-fingered wave, his mouth full of candy and his feet up on the dash. “You’d better put your feet down. If Dean finds footprints on his dash again, he’ll have a heart attack.”

Gabriel waves his lollipop in the air indifferently. “What’s he going to do? Smite me?”

“Yes.” Sam gives Gabe a piercing look and he reluctantly takes his feet off the dash.

“So, how was your day?” Sam asks as he switches lanes, glancing in his rearview mirror to throw a bitchface at a tailgater behind him, “Find anyone worth your time?”

Before he and Gabe started dating, Sam had convinced him to give up the trickster business. Of course, he continued to give people their just desserts, but in less lethal ways.

At the mention of his little hobby, Gabe’s face lights up and he practically bounces up and down in excitement.

“Hells yeah! I found this particularly nasty child abuser over in Connecticut. He would chain his kids up in his basement,” Gave frowns darkly at this, then brightens as he continues, “so I locked him in there and put a shit ton of marijuana on the ground floor in plain view of the front door. None of the kids could open the door, so he called the cops. When they got there, they saw the weed and the chains and now he’s sitting in the county jail,” Gabe laughs, “The kids got sent to live with their great aunt, a very sweet old lady who has five equally sweet rescued pit bulls and loves to bake peanut butter cookies. They’re in good hands.”

Sam reached over to grab Gabe’s hand, pulling it to his lips to press a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

“I’m proud of you, Gabe,” he murmurs into the angel’s fingers, glancing over to give him a soft smile. He releases his hand and turns his attention back to the highway as Gabe crunches contentedly on the remains of his lollipop.

“Oh!” Gabe exclaims, sitting up in his seat and snapping his fingers to dispose of his trash. “I almost forgot. I flew over a really nice playground in Pennsylvania on the way here. Feel like taking a little side trip?”

Sam chuckles. Playgrounds are one of Gabe’s favorite things about the human race, second only to candy and pranking.

“Sure,” he laughs, “I just need to drop these groceries off at the bunker first.”

Gabe waves his hand in a shooing gesture and the groceries disappear from the back seat.

“Done!” he exclaims, and with a snap, he and Sam are standing in the middle of an unoccupied playground in a beautiful park in a suburban neighborhood. The impala is parked neatly on the side of a nearby street. Sam does a quick check to make sure that they won’t be fined as Gabriel makes a beeline for the swings.

“Push me, Sasquatch!” he calls as he hops onto one of the swings.

Sam sighs as he strolls over to the swing set. “What’s the magic word?”

“Abracadabra,” Gabriel sings and Sam just chuckles as he moves around behind Gabe, kissing the top of his head before pulling the swing back and starting to push.

Gabe whoops as he goes higher and higher, nearly leaving his sear as he reaches the apex of his swing and begins to fall back to earth.

Sam grins as he propels Gabriel even higher, his boyfriend’s laughter filling his ears and his heart.


	7. Home (Harry Potter X-reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!! Jesus Christmas, this took up eight pages in my notebook!

You had lived your entire life hearing about Hogwarts. Your brother and sister talked about it all the time, describing the Slytherin common room and the quidditch games that they nearly always won, along with the nearby village, Hogsmeade, and the great hall, which supposedly had a ceiling that looked like the sky.

Despite hearing about it again and again, nothing could have prepared you for seeing it for the first time.

The hall was huge, its vaulted ceiling high enough to allow for thousands of floating candles above the four house tables. The ceiling really was enchanted to show the sky outside and it was dotted with innumerable constellations. The moon glowed in the middle of the sky, its indifferent eye turned to the line of terrified eleven-year-olds in front of the teacher’s table.

Your eyes swept out over the mas of students in front of you, searching for the familiar faces of your siblings as a very small man by the name of Professor Flitwick began to call out the names of your classmates.

You finally found the in the middle of the Slytherin table, an empty chair between them. You gave them a nervous grin as your name was called and they nodded to you in encouragement.

Somehow, you managed to the empty stool without tripping over your own two feet. You collapsed onto it and Professor Flitwick, who was perched on a pile of books, set the sorting hat on your head. It immediately fell over your eyes and you listened nervously as the hat murmured and muttered over the choice that would influence the next seven years of your life.

“Hmm… Good mind, but not exactly Ravenclaw material. No offense. Let’s see, instinct to protect. Hard working. Loyalty to your family and friends. Yes, yes, you’ll be perfect there. Better be HUFFLEPUFF!!!” the hat shouted out for the entire hall to hear and your spirits fell just as they had started to rise.

The first thing you saw as they pulled the hat off of our head was the smiles dropping off of your brother’s and sister’s faces. Disappointment along with a hint of pity rolled off of them in waves.

Two tables over, the Hufflepuffs were cheering like crazy, but you could barely hear them over the blood pumping in your ears. Your entire life, your siblings, your parents, and everyone else in your family had made fun of Hufflepuff. They were the weakest house. They stood for nothing and therefore fell for everything. They were literally the complete opposite of everything your family stood for and the Slytherin values of ambition and resourcefulness that you had been taught to uphold.

Professor Flitwick gave you a gentle nudge towards the cheering group of students and you reluctantly hopped off the stool to join them, your face burning in shame.

Your siblings didn’t look at you again for the entire sorting ceremony and the next time you looked over that them, a wide-eyed first year had claimed the empty seat in between them.

Throughout the feast you are very little, kept your eyes down, and ignored any attempt at conversation. When Professor McGonagall finally dismissed everyone, you filed out of the hall behind the rest of the Hufflepuffs.

You followed them down the right-hand staircase in the entrance hall and turned down a hallway that seemed to be empty other than a painting of a bowl of fruit and a stone recess with a pile of large barrels of vinegar stacked in it.

After revealing that the painting was really the entrance to the kitchens and showing them how to enter, the two prefects walked over to the pile of barrels.

“This is the entrance to our common room,” explained one of the prefects, a lanky boy named Markus, “If you tap on this barrel right here to the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’, then the barrels will let you in. I gotta give you fair warning, though. If you knock on the wrong barrel or tap the wrong rhythm, the other barrels will pour vinegar all over you. That stuff leaves you smelling like pickles for weeks, believe me,” he said with a wry grin and a shake of his head.

Some of the others laughed, then watched as the other prefect, a blond girl named Julia, knocked twice on the barrel two from the bottom in the idle of the second tow, then three more times after a slight pause.

That barrel and the ones below It swung inwards to reveal a dirt passageway with torches interspaced along the walls to provide light. The floor was like stone, packed down by years and years of kids travelling to and from their common room. You and the other students walked through, the older students walking ahead, chatting about the classes that they would be taking, who had hooked up with who over the summer, and other mundane things of that sort.

As you travel up the sloping passage, you wonder how this place could possibly be your home for the next seven years. The walls were made of dirt, for God’s sake! And it wasn’t just your accommodations that bothered you. You were worried because you had just remembered Slytherin’s reputation in this place. Your siblings constantly ranted about the bad rap that their house had among the other students, who seemed to think that ambitious and cunning were synonymous with back-stabbing. If these students learned that your entire family was in Slytherin, then who knows what they would do?

As you were worrying, you hadn’t noticed the wall of the passageway turning to stone or the excited whispering of the other firs years until you were almost to the entranceway of the common room.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped into the warm, low-ceilinged room. A fireplace on the other side of the room illuminated the curved walls, polished oak tables, and plush chairs. You had always loved plants, so you were delighted to see pots of ferns and ivies handing from the ceiling. Wooden shelves along the walls held various cacti and bright flowers and the other first years laughed in amazement as the plants started to dance and wave at them. Over the fireplace, a portrait of Helga Hufflepuff nodded in greeting with a kind smile. Near the ceiling, round windows were just level with the ground outside and afforded a view of the clear night sky.

You stared around you, your eyes wide in amazement. Whatever you had been expected from the Hufflepuff house, this was infinitely better.

The older students began to disappear through two doors on either side of the common room, which you assumed to be the dorms, but Markus and Julia called you all over to where they were standing by the fireplace before you could investigate.

“Before you guys go and unpack, we wanted to talk to you for a second,” Markus explained, motioning for all of you to take a seat as he and Julia sat cross-legged on the carpet.

Once everyone was settled, Julia started to speak, “For as long as any of us can remember, the Hufflepuff prefects have always given a small speech to the first years and explained a few things. There are a lot of misconceptions about us.”

She peered around the circle, meeting each of your eyes as she continued, “A lot of you are probably scared, upset, even angry over the house that the sorting hat put you in, and that’s totally normal. Most of you have probably heard that Hufflepuffs are a bunch of know-nothing duffers, but that isn’t true at all.”

You had the momentary urge to scoff, but you immediately squashed it. These people were your house now. You might as well give them a chance.

Markus nods in agreement. “Hufflepuff is loyalty. It’s hard work and determination. It’s standing up for what’s right, but also knowing when to stand back and let others lead. Most of all, Hufflepuff is _acceptance_ ,” he stresses, staring around at all of you, putting every ounce of honesty he could into his gaze, “I don’t care what house your family is in. I don’t care if you’re a muggleborn, half-blood, or full-blooded wizard. I don’t care about what your ancestors have done or whether or not you’re good at magic or anything else like that. You’re human, each and every one of you, and anyone who treats you as if you’re less than that based on what house you’re in or your blood status doesn’t deserve your attention or your time.”

“Bigotry will not be tolerated here,” Julia continued, “If we find out that any of you have been bullying someone from another house, we will not hesitate to take points from Hufflepuff and give them to the other house. If we discover you bullying one of your own house-mated, rest assured that you will regret it.”

You stared back at the two prefects, shell-shocked, but also strangely relieved. You felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulders. These people weren’t weak at all. And as an added bonus, they couldn’t care less if your family was in Slytherin.

You were suddenly broken from your thoughts as a timid voice from behind you spoke up.

“My entire family’s in Ravenclaw.”

You turn to see a small girl with bushy black hair hiding half her dark face peering cautiously at the two prefects.

“They’re… I think they’re going to be really mad when they find out I’m not,” she said, starting to tear up.

Julia leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and looked the girl right in the eye. “If they are, then they don’t get to call themselves intellectuals,” she said, a small smile gracing her features, “A family should support each other, no matter what. And if they don’t,” she leaned back and shrugged with a wicked grin, “then we’ll get Professor Flitwick to send them a scathing howler.”

The girl grinned and soon the entire group of first years were discussing their families. There were a few muggleborns, which you didn’t have a problem with, and several more kids who came from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor families.

“My family’s all Slytherin,” you blurt out.

You had said it louder than you had meant to and the conversations around you stumbled to a halt as everyone turned to look at you. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you managed to continue.

“I have a brother and sister that are in Slytherin right now and when the hat called out Hufflepuff,” you trailed off and gave a broken little laugh and shook your head, “They were so disappointed. No offence, but I’ve been taught my entire life that you guys are weak and… well, my parents are not going to be happy,” you groaned as you tugged stressfully at your hair.

Markus leaned forward, prepared to reassure you, when another first year bear him to it.

“My whole family’s in Slyterin, too,” he said. You looked up to see a stick-thin, blond-haired boy grinning back at you. “It’s like Julia said,” he continued, nodding to the prefect, “A family should support each other. If they don’t understand that Hufflepuff is just as hard working and loyal as Slytherin, then that’s their problem. Your house doesn’t define you and you don’t _have_ to be in the same house as your parents. Screw tradition, that’s what I say!”

You found yourself grinning for the first time that day back at your newfound friend, your heart and mood infinitely lighter.

Maybe Hufflepuff could be your home after all.


	8. Love (Solangelo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: Warning! There’s a lot of homophobia in this chapter (From characters, not me!) and the use of the LGBT-related f-word once. Just thought I’d warn you guys beforehand.)

Young Nico Di Angelo walked down the street, his small hand in his regal mother’s grip. Bianca held her other hand as they navigated the crowded DC sidewalk on their way to the supermarket. Shiny cars with polished chrome grills rumbled past and women in luxurious furs and floral dresses sauntered past. Tantalizing scents drifted from nearby bakeries and the butcher shops that they passed displayed plump hams in their windows, but Nico noticed none of it.

School had been a nightmare that day one particular insult was still chasing its tail round and round his head. He had been trying to understand it for hours, but every time he thought that he had a grasp on it, it slipped through his fingers.

Glancing up at his mother, he got an idea. His mother knew everything. Surely, she knew what this word meant.

“Mamma,” he said, tugging at his mother’s hand, “What’s a homo?”

Maria Di Angelo nearly stopped in her tracks in the middle of the bustling sidewalk. She quickly pulled her two children over to the entranceway of a nearby alley and kneeled in front of her son, her eyes full of confusion and her nose scrunched slightly in disgust.

“ _Patatino_ , wherever did you learn that word?” she asked, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

Nico faltered. Maybe he had said something bad?

“One of the kids at school called me it,” he replied hurriedly, “All I did was call him pretty and all of them started calling me that. Is it a bad word?” he asked anxiously, “I didn’t know, Mamma, I swear!”

His mom stood up slowly, her eyes full of disgust as if her son were something stuck to the bottom of her favorite shoes.

“I should have noticed sooner,” his mother snarled, her upper lip raising in a sneer, “You’re one of _them_. You’re a _homosexual_.”

She spat out the word as if it were poison and Nico flinched, staring up at his mother in fright. She had never acted like this towards him before. He whipped around, his wide eyes seeking out his sister’s kind ones, but they were nowhere to be found. His sister had disappeared and to make matters worse, a large crowd of pedestrians had stopped to stare at Nico.

“He’s one of them.”

“A homosexual!”

“Ew! Disgusting!”

“I heard they’re not even human.”

Whispers from the onlookers seemed to pierce his heart again and again, but as much as he wanted to run away, his body wouldn’t obey him and he remained frozen in place. Tears streamed down his face as he choked back sobs.

“You’re a disappointment,” his mother spat and all he could do was look up at her, his obsidian black eyes pleading for a hind of compassion, just a glimpse of mercy, but there was none.

The crowd crept closer and closer, now screaming their insults at him.

“Fag!”

“Homo!”

“Abomination!”

At the front of the crowd, a blond, bearded man with lightning in his blue eyes raised his fist, prepared to strike, and Nico cried out, his arms shooting up to defend himself.

Nico bolted awake, shooting upright in his bed, his chest heaving. His cheeks were soaked with the tears that continued to stream from his eyes. He hugged his knees to his chest and choked back a sob as he tried to regain control of himself. He hadn’t had one of those dreams in months, ever since he came out to his friends at Camp Half-Blood, but they always seemed to resurface. Nico guessed that they would never go away, no matter how many people accepted him for who he was.

He was wiping the tears from his cheeks when a pair of warm arms encircled him from behind.

“Bad dream?” Will murmured into Nico’s neck. He ran his hands soothingly over his boyfriend’s bare chest, feeling him shiver in the dark Hades cabin. It didn’t matter that it was a warm summer’s night outside; Nico’s cabin was always cold.

Nico nodded, intertwining his fingers with Will’s as he wiped the last of the dream from his eyes. He let Will pull him back down onto the bad and curled up in his arms as will pulled the covers up over them both.

"Nothing will ever hurt you as long as I’m around,” Will whispered into Nico’s hair as he planted a kiss on the top of his head, “I love you, you know that?”

Nico nodded, his face pressed into Will’s chest. “I love you, too,” he whispered back before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	9. School Bus (High School!Stucky)

For the past three years of middle school, Steve had started every morning by walking the gauntlet, a.k.a. riding the bus to school.

Every morning, he would walk up the three steps at the front of the bus, hoping and praying that there would be an empty seat near the front, but there never was. He would make his way carefully to the back, dodging legs and ignoring snide comments from the other students.

“It’s ghost boy!” they’d say.

“Why are you walking on stilts, Steve? Oh wait, those are your legs? My bad.”

“Hey, Rodgers! Let’s see one of your drawings!”

At those comments, he would always hug his sketch pad tighter to his chest. He learned his lesson the first time, when they had taken his sketchbook and made fun of every drawing he had. No, they had definitely lost the right to see his pictures.

Even when he reached his seat, he wasn’t really safe. Wads of paper and sometimes even coins would be thrown at him over the seats and comments still made their way to his ears. Sometimes, kids around him would try to engage in conversations over what he was reading or where he bought his clothes, but Steve could always tell that they weren’t sincere and therefore tried his best to ignore them. Sometimes, he would get into arguments and even fights with his tormenters, especially when they turned their attention towards more reactive targets. These usually ended with a detention and a bloody nose for Steve, but he knew it was worth it when they left the other kids alone.

When Steve finally entered high school, he had a fleeting hope that his classmates might have miraculously matured over the summer break, but that wasn’t the case. On his first day of freshman year, he walked through the bus, avoiding the same legs and ignoring the same taunts. After a few minutes, some of the more mean-spirited upperclassmen even joined in.

A group of girls switched seats, surrounding Steve on all sides. Steve stared studiously out the window, doing his best to ignore them as they prattled on about his appearance.

“Oh my god, look at his arms! How can they be that skinny?” one asked

“I know right? Seriously, if there’s such a thing as too skinny, he might be it.”

“My god, Becka, look at the dark circles under his eyes! Kid, you need some concealer, like, yesterday.”

Their comments were interspaced by the impacts of wads of papers against the back of his head, followed by the snickers of the kids behind him. They went silent, however, when then bus came to a stop at the corner of two streets to let a single boy on. He was tall for his age and incredibly handsome, with carefully styled brown hair and a lopsided grin. His bright red letterman jacket immediately caught the girls’ eyes and they completely forgot about Steve as they started whispering amongst themselves. Steve watched as he made his way up the aisle towards him, completely ignoring the projectiles that continued to occasionally bounce off the back of his head. Suddenly, the boy’s eyes locked with his and Steve quickly looked back out the window, wincing slightly as a quarter hit the back of his skull.

“Is this seat taken?”

Steve looked up to find the brown-haired boy smiling down at him, either oblivious to or ignoring the whispers of the girls around him. Steve hesitated for a moment, but found himself shaking his head.

‘ _Why not?_ ’ he thought, ‘ _Might as well give him a chance._ ’

The boy grinned at Steve and swung his backpack off his shoulders before collapsing onto the seat next to him.

“The name’s James Barnes,” he said as he offered his hand to Steve, “But my friends call me Bucky.”

Steve took the proffered hand and gave the other boy a small smile. “I’m Steve,” he replied, wincing slightly as another coin, this one a dime, hit the back of his head.

James frowned. “Have that been doing that the whole bus ride?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’m used to it,” he signed as the kids snickered and lobbed another bit of paper.

Without any warning, James turned around and stared down the kids behind them. He didn’t say anything for several moments and they soon grew uncomfortable.

“What?” one of the finally snapped, “You got a problem with something?”

James stared for another few seconds before narrowing his eyes menacingly. “Yes. You throw one more piece of shit at my friend, here, and I will personally make your life a living hell. Is that understood?”

Steve stared at the side of his head in amazement. No one had ever stood up for him before. What was even more amazing was when the other boy nodded in defeats, grumbling as they looked away from James’ angry gaze.

“Thanks, James,” Steve breathed as the other boy turned back towards him, “I… Thanks.”

James gave him another crooked smile, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

“No problem. Call me Bucky,” he replied.

Steve couldn’t help but grin back. Maybe this year might not be so bad after all.


	10. Red (Sherlock

If you were to ask James Moriarty what his favorite color was, he would undoubtedly say red.

Red was SUFFERING. It was eyes that were puffy and bloodshot from hours of crying in a car or on a sidewalk with a bomb strapped to your chest, never knowing if your rescuers would solve the puzzle in time. It was blood dripping from the forehead of a broken plaything after a very, very long fall and the army doctor’s screams that accompanied it.

Red was RAGE. It was his heart pumping in his chest as he stood beside a mirror-smooth pool and prepared to eliminate on of the few obstacles left in his way. It was fiery explosions that blew apart apartment complexes when someone had the audacity to defy him.

Finally, red was POWER. It was the promise of a fall. It was muzzle flash from high up windows and rooftops. It was red lasers on chests that heralded invisible angels of death. It was the sun rising and setting over a city, a country, and a world that he _owned_ and that no one would ever be able to save from him.


	11. Orange (Percy Jackson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: I forgot to mention this in my last prompt, but this will be part of a series of prompts where I do every color of the rainbow. :) I hope you enjoy! Please favorite and follow me and this story if you like it!)

If you were to look through Nico Di Angelo’s extremely, unnecessarily dark wardrobe, you would never be able to tell that his favorite color was orange.

Orange was ACCEPTANCE. It was the camp T-shirt on each and every camper that greeted him as they walked past or that smiled at him throughout his day. It was the intense and raucous conversations with other tables during dinner and training in the arena.

Orange was SAFETY. It was the sunsets that he watched from the beach with Will’s arms wrapped around him, the waved lapping at his feet as he dug his toes into the sand and breathed in the salty air. It was the sun glinting off the Apollo cabin and music drifting on the breeze.

Ultimately, orange was HOME. It was the campfire after dinner, the flames crackling and rising high into the sky as campers laughed and sang ridiculous songs about grandmothers getting ready for war, the smell of roasted marshmallows wafting through the air. Not only was it the campfire, but the entire camp as well. It was everything from the fields to the forest to the Long Island sound and everything in between and it was his home.


	12. Yellow (Supernatural)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you guys think of the color series? Leave the a comment with any suggestions, criticisms, etc. :)

Castiel enjoyed all colors, including those outside the visible spectrum, but if he had to pick a favorite, it would definitely be yellow.

Yellow was JUSTICE. It was the bright flash of a purifying sell or a summoning ritual that would finally ensure the safety of an unsuspecting victim. It was the glow of demons combusting as lightning arced beneath their meat suit’s skin.

Yellow was FRIENDS. It was his coat, stained, tattered, and torn from hundreds of hunts where he had watched their backs and they’d watched his. It was the yellowed, musty pages of ancient books piled around him as he helped them research long into the night.

Above all else, yellow was FREE WILL. If he wanted to, Cas could sit for an entire day or even a week studying honey bees as they flew to and from their hive. He could watch sunrises and sunsets unmolested by the worry of being called away for yet another heavenly war. Yellow was the street lights that passed over the speeding Impala, one after another marching overhead like shining soldiers as the real warriors below reveled in their freedom.


	13. Green (Avengers)

Loki’s favorite color was green and he wore it proudly whenever he could.

When he was young, green was his ESCAPE. It was riding through lush forests outside of Asgard, the smell of juniper and pine in the air as the wind tore through his hair and his horse’s hooves thundered underneath him. It was the buckthorn ink in rarely opened ancient books on ceiling-high shelves that carried him far, far away from his brother’s thoughtless boasting and his father’s disapproving glare. 

When he came of age, green was MAGIC. It was gentle swirls and sharp spikes of green mist and bubbling, steaming cauldrons of liquid that could smell like the most delicious pastry or the rankest sewer. It was conjuring objects out of thin air with a flash of verdant energy, illuminating his mother’s proud smile.

Hundreds of years later, green was BELONGING. It was the man of iron reviewing recordings of the battle in his city and noticing Loki’s emerald eyes invaded by sickly blue. It was the walls of his room in the tower and the alchemical equipment that Thor had brought him from Asgard. It was Thor watching him experiment and, out of nowhere, asking if Loki would teach him how to use magic as well. It was the satisfaction that he felt as he watched his brother finally master the spell that he had been practicing all week. It was understanding and acceptance and everything that he had ever wanted.


	14. I'm sorry, but I will be discontinuing this story.

Thank you guys for the support that you've been giving this series, but I'm going to have to discontinue it. I haven't done anything with it in a month and I know that I'll never have to time for it with school and extracurricular activities. I absolutely hate dropping stories and I've never done it before but this was one commitment that I shouldn't have made. I should have known that it would never work. Again, I am so sorry, but who knows? Maybe I'll pick it back up again, but that won't be for a very long time and I don't want to get your hopes up. I hope that you all have a wonderful life and that you've enjoyed the bits that I've written so far! :)


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